Squib
by Sela McGrane
Summary: She could see things that other people couldn't. She never asked why, but she got the answer anyway. While she was at it, a certain Squib was also about to find love.
1. Chapter 1

**Wow. Well this is a oneshot that ran very, very, very far away on me. I MAY continue this story, though for now I'm marking it as complete. I know this seems like an odd pairing, but I urge you to give it a chance. Remember, Hermione Granger's mother was played by the very beautiful Michelle Fairley, also known to Game of Thrones fans as Catelyn Stark. As a tribute to that fact, you will find some subtle Game of Thrones references in this story, and if you're a fan, I hope you enjoy that. Alright then. Ready or not, without further ado, I present... "Squib".**

* * *

Dr. Jean Granger and her husband John were both dentists. Well respected dentists in their community, thank you very much, though their patients seemed to prefer Jean over John for the more painful procedures. They claimed, and Jean would laugh every time someone said so, that Jean had a _magic_ touch. She was inclined to let them believe whatever they wished, though of course, there was really no such thing as magic. At least, Jean _thought_ so. Some days, like today, she wasn't so sure.

Jean and her husband had one child; a daughter named Hermione. Hermione had been quite the surprise, since she and John had not been overly interested in having a child. While Jean, in her mid- thirties by the time her daughter had come along, had been pleased with such a surprise, John had not been so impressed by the screaming bundle with thick locks of curly brown hair. Jean however, found herself lost in the chocolate brown eyes her child had. The shade was identical to those of Jean's grandmother, Agatha Tully, who was by now nearly one hundred years old, and resided in a convalescent home. Jean visited now and then, though the dental practice and the rigors of raising her daughter were quite demanding of her time.

Today, however, Jean found herself thinking of her grandmother as she kept vigil over her only child. Hermione was dreadfully ill, and the doctors at the hospital had no idea what was wrong. For the last week, Jean had watched as her six year old daughter struggled more and more to breathe with each passing hour. Jean, to the annoyance of her husband and the bewildered looks of the doctors at the hospital, kept trying to make them see the rash adorning her daughter's fair skin. John and the doctors both tried to tell her there was no rash at all. By now, Jean was certain they all thought her quite mad.

On one hand, Jean was inclined to believe that the rash she saw was a delirium brought on by the agony of watching her child slowly die. On the other hand, somewhere in the recesses of the woman's mind, she remembered having this very rash, and struggling to breathe much like Hermione was now, when she herself was a child.

 _"Mama," Jean had choked out, feeling quite cold despite the summer weather and blankets piled atop her frail little body. She was feverish, it was hard to breathe, and she had a rash on her skin that looked like scales that itched something terrible. "Am I going to die?"_

 _"No, sweetheart," her mother had said. "Whatever it takes, I'll make sure you get well."_

Jean vaguely remembered hearing her parents arguing over whether or not to contact her father's mum, who he had not spoken to in years. Jean's father, much like her husband John, was stubborn to a fault, and could hold a grudge for as long as time allowed. Still, something Jean's mother had said must have swayed him, because hours later Jean remembered meeting her grandmother for the first time.

 _"Who are you?" Jean had asked._ _"Have you come to give me last rites?"_

 _"No, little squib," her grandmother had cooed, holding up a glass beaker to her lips, filled with an odd, green liquid. "Drink up and you'll be well in no time. No need for a priest."_

Jean's eyes snapped wide when she realized it had been her grandmother who had made her well with that awful tasting medicine. Hermione was now suffering from the same thing she had as a child, and her grandmother, elderly as she was, might be able to help. The doctors couldn't – they'd said as much when they sent Jean home with her daughter. _They_ had sent the Granger family home, believing the next call they got would be to report their child's passing. No. Not if Jean had anything to do with it.

"John!" Jean called.

Her husband sauntered into the room, looking tired. It had been a long week. "Yeah?"

"I need to go see my grandmother," Jean told him. "Can you watch over Hermione?"

"Jean, what the hell are you going to see that old bat _now_ for?" John demanded. "Your daughter is dying!"

The woman steeled her expression. "She's your daughter too, John. And I am well aware of how ill she is. I think I remember having the same thing she has, and my grandmother brought a remedy of some sort. It was the first time I'd met her."

John looked conflicted, and Jean wondered, not for the first time this week, if he was secretly pleased that the daughter he'd never wanted might be done for. On the other hand, she knew John loved her and would not wish suffering on his wife. "Honey…the chances…"

Her face softened. "I know it's a longshot," she reasoned, "but I have to try. I'll never forgive myself if I don't at least _try._ "

After a moment, he nodded. "Go on then. But be quick."

Jean didn't bother putting on a bra under her two day old tanktop. She didn't bother changing out of her yoga pants. All she managed before bolting out the door was clipping her hair up and splashing a bit of water on her face. She was exhausted from her vigil, and falling asleep behind the wheel was not going to get help for Hermione.

It was a ten minute drive to the convalescent home, though today Jean made it in six. She didn't bother with a parking space, rather pulling right up to the door and jumping out of the car. She didn't wave to the woman had reception before bolting down a hall that led to her grandmother's room.

"Grandmum!" she said, rushing into the room.

A very aged woman looked over to her, concern in chocolate brown eyes that were ever so familiar to Jean. "What is it, little squib?"

Jean offered a halfhearted smile at her grandmother's use of her nickname. "It's Hermione, grandmum. She's very ill. She can't breathe and she itches. Her fever… the doctors say she'll pass before the weekend is over."

Agatha Tully's eyes widened. "Does she have the rash, child?" she asked. "The rash that looks like scales?"

Jean let out an exasperated sigh. " _Yes_ , though John and the doctors can't seem to see the damned thing! They think I've gone mad!"

The old woman nodded. "Go home to your daughter, Jean. Help will be there within the hour."

The dentist nodded, trusting her grandmother absolutely. She offered thanks, paused to kiss the woman on the cheek, and then bolted back out the door, down the hall, and made it back to her house in no time at all. She'd been gone less than half an hour.

"Any luck?" John asked as she eased herself back into the chair at Hermione's bedside.

Jean nodded. "Someone will be here soon," she breathed. "Please wait downstairs for them."

Her husband shrugged, took his leave, and fifteen minutes later her returned, and was followed into the room by a woman perhaps a few years older that Jean was, with long, ebony hair and startling green eyes. She was wearing the oddest clothing, but Jean didn't pay it any mind. "My grandmother sent you?" she asked, eyes lighting up.

"Professor Tully did, yes," the woman said with a Scottish lilt. "I am Minerva McGonagall. I think I have what your daughter requires."

The woman, Minerva, held up a small vial of green liquid, and Jean smiled broadly. "Jean Granger," she said, introducing herself. "God bless you for coming."

"Quite," Minerva said with a small smile. "Now, let's see here…"

Minerva ran her fingers over a particularly irritated bit of rash, frowning. She reached in her pocket and pulled out another container, this one containing a tan paste, which she handed off to Jean.

"What do I do with this?" the dentist asked.

"You see the rash?" Minerva asked quietly, eying John warily in the doorway.

"Yes," Jean whispered. "Though he can't. The doctors can't either."

"Not surprising," Minerva replied. "You're a Tully. He's not. Apply the ointment to your daughter's skin, whilst I will administer the potion to counter the virus."

Jean did as she was told, Minerva did as she'd promised, and after a quiet couple of minutes, Hermione's breathing began to ease. "It's working," Jean said, astonished, and yet not so much.

The Scottish woman nodded. "She'll be fine, Mrs. Granger."

"Jean, please," the dentist insisted. "You did just save my daughter's life, after all."

"Minerva, then," came an easy reply as the woman placed her hand tenderly on Hermione's forehead. "And I think perhaps, in a few years' time, we'll meet again. What is your daughter's name?"

"Hermione," Jean replied, confused at Minerva's comment about meeting again. She'd never gotten ill like this after her grandmother's treatment, so why would Hermione? "She won't get ill like this again, will she?"

"No," Minerva assured her. "This virus is a once in a lifetime illness, much like the chicken pox, though I daresay it's more severe than that. I can't explain now, but suffice to say that I have a hunch that Hermione will be a very… gifted child. Your grandmother, years ago, taught at very elite school for gifted youth, and I won't be at all surprised if your Hermione is also accepted there."

"She is quite smart," Jean admitted. "Did my grandmother tell you that?"

Minerva shook her head. "No, but as I am now a Professor there, I know what to look for. Now, I must bid you goodbye," she said firmly.

Jean nodded, recognizing the tone as one her grandmother often used, which she now decided must be a trait inherent to all teachers. It was one of finality, and there was no invitation nor tolerance for questioning further. "Thank you, Minerva," she said, standing to usher the Scottish woman to the door.

"You're welcome, Jean," Minerva replied. "Though I can see myself out – you ought to remain with your daughter."

"Again, thank you."

"Till next time," Minerva stated. And then, she was gone.

* * *

Minerva McGonagall smiled brightly when she looked at the roster for muggleborn students this coming term. She had been waiting for _this name_ to pop up for over five years. "Albus," she called out to her employer. "I'm going to head down to London today to visit one of the muggleborns for this term. Do you need anything while I'm there?"

Albus Dumbledore looked up from his desk. "Lemon Drops, please," he said. "Is it the Granger girl you've been going on and on about for five years?"

Minerva nodded. "Agatha Tully's great-granddaughter. She contracted…"

"Yes, yes, Minerva," Albus replied wearily. "Dragonpox. I remember. Her magical aura positively hummed. She's bound to be a powerful witch. I remember the story, my dear."

Anyone who didn't know the Scottish woman would call the look on her face at that moment a pout, though anyone who _did_ know her wouldn't dare. "I'll be back in time for supper," she said crisply. "With your damned candy."

With a huff, Minerva grabbed her wand off the desk and made for the door. It took some time to reach the outer limit of Hogwarts' wards, but when she did, she apparated directly to the street she'd visited a few years back, walking quickly along until she arrived at a familiar house. Before knocking on the door, she flicked her wand and transfigured her robes into something a bit more muggle. She now wore black slacks and an emerald green blouse, and for some odd reason she also felt compelled to loosen her tight bun. When she was satisfied with the braid running over her shoulder, she raised her hand to the knocker.

It wasn't long when a little girl with heaps of curly brown hair and bright, intelligent looking chocolate eyes answered. The girl looked a good deal better than death warmed over, as she'd appeared when Minerva had seen her last. "You must be Hermione," Minerva said with a smile. "It's good to meet you."

The girl looked at her suspiciously. "Who are you?"

"I'm…" Minerva paused, knowing that Agatha had passed only a few months after Hermione's illness. Chances are the child didn't remember her Grandmother Tully. "I am a friend of your mother's," she settled with. That might be stretching the truth a bit, as she'd only met Jean Granger that one time, but still, if mutual concern over a child didn't bind two people in friendship, Minerva didn't know what would.

Hermione nodded. "I'll get her then," she said. "Would you come in?"

Minerva stepped through the threshold, and the bright eyed girl closed the heavy door behind them. "I'll just wait here," she assured the child.

Smiling, Hermione bounded off in search of her mum, and returned a few moments later with Jean in tow. Minerva first thought that Jean looked decidedly haggard, but the moment their eyes met her face lit up. "Minerva!" she exclaimed.

"Jean," Minerva greeted, unable to stop a smile of her own from forming.

To her surprise, Jean rushed forward and pulled her into a tight hug, which she found herself returning. It was uncommon for muggleborns to get Dragon Pox, and when they did, oftentimes the child would die, as the parents had no idea whom to contact. Jean had been lucky that Agatha had still be alive when Hermione fell ill, and doubly lucky that she'd thought to contact her failing grandmother.

"Hermione, sweetheart," Jean said, pulled back finally. She ushered her daughter as if to present her to Minerva. "This is the woman I've told you about. The one who saved your life."

An 'oh' shape formed on the rosy lips, and her eyes widened in understanding. " _You're_ the one?"

Minerva nodded. "Professor Minerva McGonagall," she said in greeting. "I'm glad to see you looking much better than the last time I saw you."

"Not being half dead will do that to a girl," Hermione quipped.

"Won't you come in for tea, Minerva?" Jean said. "We can catch up?"

"Of course, the Scottish woman accepted. "Though I do think your daughter should join us. As I suspected, Hermione has been accepted at the school Agatha used to teach at."

"Hogwarts?" Jean asked.

Minerva faltered in her step. "How much did Agatha tell you?" she asked, worriedly. She could not _believe_ that Professor Agatha _bloody_ Tully had broken the Statue of Secrecy. Minerva's stern teaching method and propensity to abide by the rules had been mirrored by her former Charms Instructor.

"Very little," Jean said gently. "It was more of an admittance of the Tully family history than anything. I still know next to nothing about… _your world_ … but after what my grandmother told me, and what you had said about Hermione… I suspected that she was…"

Hermione stopped her foot, obviously beginning to become annoyed at how the adults were talking about her as if she wasn't there. "Suspected that I was _what_?"

Minerva turned and looked down at the impudent child, adjusting her glasses on her nose and offering a stern gaze. "You, Miss Granger, are a witch."

A few hours, and a million questions later, Minerva had missed dinner at Hogwarts in favor of very engaging conversation with the two Granger females. John, Hermione's father, was out of town on business, which Jean seemed grateful for in light of the conversation. He was a very no nonsense sort of man, and the squib, as Minerva had concluded Jean was, was not looking forward to explaining all of this to her husband. Hermione had gotten her abilities from her mother's side, there was no mistaking that, and he would undoubtedly be less than pleased that his daughter was so… unnatural.

Hermione was in bed now, and Minerva and Jean continued chatting over tea. "Maybe John will see the silver lining," Jean whispered. "If Hermione's goes off to Hogwarts, well… the house will be child free for most of the year. He didn't want her in the first place, you know. He tried his damnedest to get me to abort her, but I just couldn't. She wasn't planned, but I love that little girl like nothing else."

Minerva nodded, and took Jean's hand, offering silent comfort over a difficult situation the squib would undoubtedly be facing when John came home. "I'm sorry," she said, wiping a tear away that she saw drifting down Jean's cheek. The Scottish witch didn't know what was coming over her, but she felt very drawn to Jean Granger in a way that she knew was very inappropriate. She could be Jean's friend, but nothing more. The woman was married. Yes, the desire to do more than hold Jean's hand by way of comfort was _absolutely_ inappropriate. "It will be okay."

"I wish I could believe that," Jean replied, leaning in to Minerva's touch. "But while I do love John, and I know he loves me, I'm not sure that's really enough. I don't understand how he _can't_ love that little girl. She's his daughter, witch or not, planned or not, wanted or not."

The Scottish witch could tell that a definite closeness was growing between she and Jean, and she also knew that if given the right push, Jean might even be inclined to go where Minerva's mind had already gone of its own fruition. Still, the woman was _married_ , and Minerva was not about to get involved in an affair, no matter how good of an idea it seemed at the moment to take advantage of the moment of tenderness now standing between them. "I have to leave," she uttered out after just holding Jean in her arms for a few minutes.

Jean nodded, sniffling. "You probably had to go hours ago," she accused gently, "though the fact that you stayed as long as you have certainly endeared me to you, even more than I already was. You come, save my daughter's life, and then come back and walk me though an emotional breakdown. Are you a superhero in your world, Minerva?"

The teasing tone did not escape the witch. It was borderline flirting, in fact. She _had to go_.

The two walked to the door, and as Minerva stepped over the threshold, she was overcome with a sense of loss. Despite inner protest going on about integrity and whatnot, Minerva leaned back toward Jean, placed a hand on her waist, and a tender kiss on her cheek. "Goodnight, Jean," she whispered.

Jean's eyes widened in surprise at the more intimate contact, but she did not seem to object in the slightest. "Goodnight," the woman breathed out. "When will I see you again?"

Minerva looked sad. "After first contact, unless Hermione were to be injured or gets into some sort of trouble at Hogwarts, I'm not likely to have an official reason to call on you. With John feeling as he does about our world, I'm not inclined to think it wise for me to come by unofficially either."

Jean nodded, seeming to accept that what Minerva was saying was for the best. Whether or not Jean got the subtle undertones of how Minerva wished she had a reason to call on this beautiful woman again, the witch didn't know. As it stood, the next time they met was likely to be Hermione's graduation in seven years. Minerva wasn't sure which of them was more disappointed at that notion.

"Perhaps," she added quietly, "now and then letters between us might be exchanged, regarding Hermione's education."

The squib nodded, looking decidedly more cheerful at the notion of some contact. "I suppose I ought to get Hermione one of those Owls you were telling me about, in that case."

The conversation seemed to have come to an end, and so Minerva leaned in one more time and pressed one more kiss to Jean's cheek, after which she uttered a quick farewell and apparated away. When she reappeared outside the gates of Hogwarts, she was both chastising herself for the kisses she'd given, and for the fact that she hadn't gotten the nerve to make her interest plain by kissing Jean right on the lips. She was going to need a drink before bed.

* * *

Jean Granger smiled brightly as an Owl fluttered onto her kitchen windowsill. It was clutching a letter, from Hermione or from Minerva, either of which would be more than welcome. Over the last year and a half, she and Minerva had often exchanged letters. She'd not seen Minerva since the day the witch had come to tell them about Hogwarts, but even all these months later, her heart still fluttered when she thought of the smoldering green eyes that had seemingly reached into her soul.

Hermione's intelligence had not come from her father – in fact the only thing Hermione had gotten from him was his curly hair. That being said, Jean had not been blind to the connection that had unwittingly formed between she and Minerva. She wanted to forget about it, but she just couldn't seem to. The fluttering in her chest when she thought of Minerva was definite, and constant. Going to bed with John paled in comparison to the arousal she'd felt when Minerva had simply kissed her cheek. She'd never been incline _that way_ before, and now that she found herself very attracted to a woman, she had no idea what to do about it. She'd accepted that it was a fact, but that didn't change that firstly, she was married woman, and secondly that even if she and John divorced, that she and Minerva lived in two different worlds, quite literally.

When Hermione had been home for Christmas, she'd chattered endlessly about _Professor McGonagall_. While John had rolled his eyes, Jean had paid rapt attention, eager for any picture of what Minerva's life was really like. A part of her even wondered if somehow, someway, she could fit into Minerva's world. She knew it would mean giving up the dental practice, but that concept didn't seem to bother her as much as she thought it might.

The smile plastered on her face faded quickly as she read the contents of the letter, despite it being from Minerva. There had been an accident. Hermione had been injured. They were working to make her well, but it would be some time before Jean could expect word from her daughter. Weeks, probably.

Jean scrambled to her desk to grab a bit of parchment she kept on hand for when she was writing Minerva and Hermione, and scrawled a quick reply.

 _Come get me. I want to see my daughter. - J_

She tied the note to the Owl's leg, offered him a bit of bacon, and sent him on his way. A few hours passed, during which Jean did nothing but stare at her front door, which she could see from the sofa in the den. John came home from work, and they ate in silence. She didn't bother telling him what was wrong, and he didn't bother to ask.

 _Why wasn't he asking?_ Jean wondered. She had stayed with John up to this point because while she was painfully aware of his lack of care toward their daughter, she'd never once believed he didn't still love her. For the first time, as she excused herself from the table and went to the bathroom to throw up what she'd just eaten, Jean was suddenly filled with doubt about his affections.

She slept on the sofa that night, still staring at the door until exhaustion finally claimed her.

An Owl arrived early the next morning, before John had left and much to his displeasure.

 _Be there at nine_. _\- M_

"Thank you, Wallas," she said to the Owl, again offering him a slice of bacon.

A quick glance at the clock told her she still had two hours before Minerva arrived. She showered and dressed first, and was unsurprised to find John gone by the time she returned to the kitchen. When had he stopped kissing her goodbye?

With a heavy sigh, Jean turned around and went back up the stairs, packing a bag with a week's worth of clothing and toiletries. Even if she could not stay at Hogwarts with Hermione and Minerva, she was not coming back here. She wrote a short note to John before dragging her now heavy suitcase to the front stoop.

 _Dear John,_

 _I want a divorce. I'll be gone for the week. We can talk about the details when I get back._

 _Jean_

That taken care of, Jean felt like heavy burden had been lifted from her chest. As keen as she was to see if something could develop between she and Minerva, it wasn't the reason she had ultimately decided to end her marriage. The simple fact was that she didn't believe he loved her anymore, and he certainly didn't love their daughter. That acknowledgement alone had been enough for her to realize that she didn't love him anymore, either. It wasn't fair that Hermione got more love and affection from her teacher than she did from her father, and it wasn't fair that Jean had to turn to Minerva for advise on how to effectively parent her witch of a daughter, which sadly, Jean often did. She was damned lucky that Minerva didn't seem to mind.

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 **PLEASE REVIEW!  
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	2. Chapter 2

**This was originally the second half of a very long chapter one. I have broken it down per a request to continue this story, and being NOT asouldreams, my chapters are not usually 10k. If you have read this part already, you can proceed to "chapter three", where the actual update to this story is. Enjoy!**

* * *

Minerva didn't have a chance to steel herself for meeting Jean, as the woman in question was already sitting, suitcase in hand and looking miserable, on her front stoop when Minerva apparated onto the street in front of the Granger home. Jean got up at once and rushed into Minerva's arms, which had opened of their own violation, and then closed tightly against Jean's warm body.

"Why is it when I see you you're always crying?" Minerva murmured into the squib's hair.

Jean guffawed. "Because you don't come to see me often enough. I think half of these tears are just because I'm happy to see you."

Minerva sighed, thinking of the dozens of letters she'd exchanged with this woman, most of which had nothing to do with Hermione's education, and sometimes had nothing to do with Hermione at all. Their friendship had grown over the last year and a half, despite Minerva's rule abiding side protesting with every stroke of her quill. She just seemed to be bereft of reason when it came to this woman. "I'm happy to see you, too," she whispered. "Though I wish it was under better circumstances."

"Can squibs get into Hogwarts?" Jean asked, obviously thinking of her daughter's condition.

Minerva nodded. "We actually have a squib on staff. While John would see nothing, like he couldn't see the rash on Hermione from the Dragon Pox, you on the other hand will see Hogwarts just as a witch or wizard could."

"Good," Jean replied. "I was a bit worried you'd arrive and say that I wouldn't be able to see Hermione."

"And yet you seem quite packed and ready to leave," Minerva noted, eying a suitcase that was obviously prepared for more than a brief stay at the castle. "Did you at least leave John a note saying where you'd gone off to?"

Jean huffed. "I left him a note alright. A note telling him I'd be back in a week, and that when I returned we'd be talking about a divorce. I…"

"Jean…" Minerva breathed, a bit stunned at this turn of events. "Are you sure you aren't being rash… I understand you're upset but…"

"I was an utter wreck last night, Minerva McGonagall," Jean said sternly. "And that damned man didn't so much as look at me with concern. He obviously doesn't give a bloody shit about me, and I already know he has no love for our daughter, so pray tell, why am I with him still?"

Minerva was a bit taken aback by Jean's tone, and opted to let the argument go before it escalated. Truthfully, while she felt almost duty bound to urge her friend to see reason, she was less than sorry at the possibility that Jean Granger, this beautiful woman still in her arms, was on the way to single. The fact that they came from different worlds still stood between any potential relationship, not to mention Jean's feelings on the matter, but it was more than Minerva had ever hoped for. "Are you ready to go, then?" she asked after a moment, not answering Jean's question.

"Yes," Jean replied. "Are we going to… oh what was the bloody word… oh, right! Apparate?"

The Scottish witch chuckled. "Indeed we are. I do warn you, it is perfectly normal to feel nauseous when you do it for the first time."

"I'll try not to throw up on you," Jean quipped.

"I'd thank you for it," Minerva replied with a soft smile. "Hold onto me."

Jean did as she'd been asked, and with a deep, centering breath she apparated both of them to the gates of Hogwarts. She was pleased when she saw the look of awe on her companions face. While coming here today was not exactly a thing of joy, the castle was still a sight to behold. "Wow," Jean murmured. "Hermione's descriptions were vivid, but God, Minerva, this is incredible."

"If you open your eyes just a bit wider, you'll be the spitting image of Hermione when she first arrived," Minerva teased.

"According to my grandmother, your entire first year here you were bouncing in your seat during her class, you were so excited," Jean countered with a smirk.

"Oi! Not fair!" Minerva exclaimed, partly annoyed and partly curious as to why Jean had been asking Agatha about her in the first place. "Your daughter is no better, you know! In Transfiguration, she knows the answer to every question, and bounces in her seat to try and raise her hand just a little higher. She's a second year now, and it _still_ hasn't abated!"

Jean's expression faltered. "I suppose we should get up to your hospital and see her, then."

Mood officially sobered, Minerva led her guest in through the gate, and up the marble staircase toward the Head's office. As much as she'd have liked to just take Jean right to the hospital wing, she needed to check in with Albus first – both to inform him of her return, and so that Jean could sign in. All guests at the castle were required to do so.

"This way," the Scottish witch urged. "Albus will want to meet you before we see Hermione."

Jean nodded, knowing full well who Albus Dumbledore was. In the course of their correspondences, Minerva had vented about her irritating boss more than once, though for each time she expressed displeasure, she'd at least three times as often speak highly of the wizard. Minerva and Jean had shared much with each other about their respective lives in the last eighteen months, and while she was glad to have Jean in the castle, she knew that she would have to answer to Albus about their relationship. There would be no hiding her own feelings about Jean from the dratted man, and as he was a very perceptive person, Minerva expected he'd have some insight on where Jean might be regarding Minerva. She both dreaded and looking forward to that conversation; one which, she shuddered at the thought, was decidedly impending.

"Albus, I'm back." Minerva said by way of greeting.

He stood and made his way over to the pair, extending his hand to the newcomer. "I am Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts. You must be Mrs. Granger. I'm so sorry for what has happened to your daughter. She's quite a clever girl, and we're glad of her presence here."

Jean shook his hand, nodding politely before turning to Minerva. "He's exactly as I thought he'd be," she said, giggling a little. "And he _does_ smell of lemon drops."

Albus raised his eyebrows and looked at his colleague. "I was not aware that you were so familiar with me, madam."

Minerva coughed. "Jean and I have…corresponded a fair bit."

"Well then, Mrs. Granger. If you'll step over here, I'll floo you directly to the Hospital Wing from here," Albus said, returning his attention to their guest. "I'm afraid I need a quick word with Minerva. She'll be along shortly. Madam Pomfrey will be waiting for you on the other side. Am I correct in assuming you understand a bit about the floo network as well?"

Jean nodded, offering Minerva an apologetic smile. "Purple powder, state your destination clearly, pop out of another fireplace," she muttered.

"Be my guest," Albus said, pointing to the pot of floo powder on the mantle.

"Tell Poppy I'll be along in a minute," Minerva said to Jean. "And brace yourself… it's going to be a bit of a shock to see Hermione the way she is."

"Thank you Minerva," Jean replied, pressing a quick kiss to the other woman's cheek. "I'll see you soon."

A moment later, the squib was gone, and Minerva busied herself looking at her shoes, waiting for Albus to speak. He finally did. "You're in love with her," he stated. It was not a question.

"Perhaps," Minerva admitted.

"She's married," he continued. Another statement.

"She's asking him for a divorce," Minerva defended quickly. "And besides, nothing has happened between us. I don't even know how she bloody feels about me."

"The same, I believe," the Headmaster replied. "Though she is scared of what that means. To be with you, she'd have to give up everything in her life, potentially including her daughter if young Miss Granger did not take kindly to her mother being with another woman, much less her teacher. The poor child is already teased enough, you know."

"She's got Potter and Weasley now," Minerva argued. "And most of the other children, sans Malfoy and his group, leave her be for the most part. I think she'd be alright with it."

"And what of Jean's job? Her home? Her friends in the muggle world?"

"Albus, nothing has happened between us," the Scottish witch snapped. "You are insinuating that we have a relationship to take to the next level, as in living together, which seems silly to talk about because we haven't even so much as kissed!"

Dumbledore looked thoughtful. "I strongly urge you to instigate a conversation at least talking about the affection between you, especially in light of her impending divorce. She may remain at the castle for the week, though after that if she wants to stay close, she will need to seek lodgings in Hogsmeade. I have a hard enough time keeping Lucius out of Hogwarts as it is – if he gets wind that a muggleborn's mother is allowed to stay at the castle , he'll be on the doorstep every time young Mr. Malfoy gets a scratch. Which, as the boy plays Quidditch, is likely to be often."

"I understand, Albus," she said. "May I go join Jean now?"

"Of course," he replied. "I assume you'll have her stay with you?"

"Being that she's not a witch, I think it best she not stay alone in guest quarters," Minerva concurred.

"My thoughts exactly," he said easily. "Though let her know it will probably be close to end of term before the Mandrake matures enough for harvest, so if she intends to remain close, it may be prudent she have a talk with Rosmerta or Aberforth soon. Also, should she decide to remain here, I can have an Auror available to escort her to and from places as she needs. I cannot have you skipping classes and staff meetings to help your lover."

Minerva glared. "She's not my lover."

Albus got a twinkle in his eye. "By week's end, I believe she will be."

* * *

Jean Granger was getting her things unpacked in Minerva's guest room when there was a knock at the door. She knew Minerva had classes till later this afternoon, so the sound startled her. Hermione was… _petrified_ , so of course her daughter wouldn't be dropping by to see her, and she didn't know anyone else here. "Eep!" she squealed.

Albus Dumbledore chuckled at the sound. "I apologize firstly for startling you, and secondly for the intrusion, but I was hoping I might have a word."

"Of course, Headmaster," she agreed, moving toward Minerva's sitting room and taking a seat, ushering him to do the same. It was a bit odd how at home she felt in Minerva quarters, but it didn't strike her as awkward at all to be playing hostess with Minerva here.

"Mrs. Granger…"

"Jean, please."

"Then you must call me Albus," he said. "Minerva has indicated that you are planning to divorce your husband. Is this true?"

Jean looked at him, perplexed by his interest in the subject. Of course the divorce would impact Hermione, but not to the point that the Headmaster would need to know. Then it hit her. Albus must be asking on behalf of his friend. Jean knew how much she had grown to care for Minerva, and she was smart enough to see the signs that said Minerva felt much the same. Jean had hoped to speak with the other woman sometime this week. "It is," she answered.

"I'm sure you are wondering why I would ask such a thing…"

"I have a fair guess it has something to do with Minerva," she vocalized, her tone accusing.

"Quite," he replied with a smile. "At least, in part. But before we talk about your romantic interest in my Transfiguration Professor…"

Jean's jaw fell at his bluntness.

"…I was wondering if you might tell me what you already know if your grandmother's family," he continued.

Jean shook her head, adjusting her brain to the change of topic. If he was anything like Minerva said he was, then he absolutely had a reason for asking, and it was probably of some importance, and by the way he'd broached both the topic of the Tully family and her interest in Minerva at the same time, she reasoned that they two were probably interrelated. God, she really hoped she wasn't about to find out she was _related_ to the woman who had caught her eye.

"My grandmother explained that she was a witch, and came from a long line of witches and wizards. She mentioned she had a younger sister who married a wizard, though my grandmother had married a… oh what's the word you use for non-magical people?"

"Muggle," Albus offered.

"Right," Jean agreed, remembering. "She married a muggle, and her only child, my father, was born non magical. I was also born non magical, and as my father wanted nothing to do with his mother's, er, magic and so forth, he never told me anything about it. I only found out after Hermione got Dragon Pox, a virus I also had as a child. That's when I met Minerva."

"Anything else?" the elderly wizard inquired kindly.

Jean shook her head. "Grandmum was failing by the time I approached her about it. I was lucky to get as much out of her as I did, information wise."

"She never mentioned your father's sister?"

Jean blinked. "My father had a sister? I have an aunt?"

"Indeed."

"Is she still alive? What about my grandmother's sister? Is she still alive? Did she have children? Do I have a whole pile of wizarding family out there somewhere?" Jean asked in rapid fire.

Minerva chose that moment to enter her quarters. "And that, my dear, is what Hermione sounds like when I introduce a new topic. Sorry to interrupt, I'm just popping in between classes to grab a book I'll need."

Jean ignored Minerva. "So?" she pressed Albus.

"Your grandmother's sister did not have children, and she was killed in the last war. Your father's sister, however, is still alive and a rather elite member of wizarding society."

"Agatha had a daughter?" Minerva asked, curiosity perked.

"Indeed she did, though being a Professor here at Hogwarts, she gave the girl an alternate surname as to not be accused of favoritism. You will of course, remember Augusta Stark?" Albus said, looking at Minerva. "She was after all, in your dorm room for seven years."

"Augusta was a _Tully_?" Minerva blanched. Then, as if remembering something left in the recesses of her mind till now, she burst out laughing. "Augusta failed her mum's class!"

Albus' eye twinkled. "I assure you, exactly how less than amused Aggy was about her daughter's inability to pass her Charms OWL was heard for weeks in the staff room."

Jean waved her hand. "Hey, over here? Augusta, where is she? Did she have a family after failing her mother's class?"

Albus sobered back up, and Minerva waved goodbye to them, and went back out the door and towards her next class. "Augusta did marry, and had a son. Her husband has since passed, and her son and daughter-in-law, Frank and Alice, are unfortunately residing in the long term care center at the wizarding hospital. Through Frank and Alice, Augusta has a grandson, who is a classmate of your daughter's, and a fellow Gryffindor."

Jean frowned, taking the information in and asking herself a question that had come from the litany. "Uh… how old is Minerva? If she's the same age as my aunt… no, she can't possibly be that old, can she?"

Albus chuckled. "How old do you suppose I am, my dear?"

"Oh, I'd guess about sixty-five," she replied.

"I am one hundred and eleven years old," Albus said with a smile. "Though thank you for the complement. Minerva is fifty-seven."

"Jesus," Jean uttered. "Is that a wizarding thing? You age slower than muggles?"

"We age just as you to until we reach physical maturity, around seventeen. After that, we age at half the rate a muggle would," Albus explained. "In such case, Minerva appears to be in her late thirties, and I, just as you guessed, about sixty-five."

"Well that's hardly fair," Jean muttered. "I mean, I know I look young for my age, but still…"

"It's the wizarding blood in you," Albus offered.

Jean suddenly remembered that they had no visited the topic of Minerva quite yet. "Onward then, before she gets back. I suppose you want to know my intentions toward your friend."

Albus chuckled. "I am suddenly understanding why the Sorting Hat put your daughter in Gryffindor. That said, yes, I was curious on the topic."

Jean sighed. "I will be honest – I'm not sure how I feel at this point. I care for her. I'm attracted to her. I think… I think I may be falling in love with her. But I'm scared. I wouldn't want to ask her to put me up, but if we were together, I'd want to be here, in the wizarding world with her, and leaving John means leaving the dental practice, which means I won't really have much in the way of funds to support myself. I know Minerva mentioned you have one squib already on staff, but I'm not arrogant enough as to think that a job could be found for me here, as well."

"I'm quite sure you'd be overqualified for any job I could offer you here in the castle, though dentistry is a field that the wizarding world really has not embraced as of yet, and I believe the need is there," Albus said thoughtfully. "Perhaps you'd consider opening a dental office in Hogsmeade – that's the village just off the castle grounds – should you go forward with your divorce proceedings."

"How would I even fund such an endeavor?" Jean asked, interested in the idea but skeptical of how she'd be able to upstart a new practice. "Buying a building and modifying it to suit my needs aside, I'd have to advertise, and hire a staff…"

"Your grandmother's fortune should provide you all the funds you require for both a business upstart, and for living expenses, with plenty of room to spare," Albus informed her, interrupting.

"My grandmother's _fortune_ , as you call it, was spent on her funeral," Jean argued. "There was only a few thousand pounds left after it was all said and done."

"Her muggle money," Albus said gently. "The Tully vault at Gringots was left in my care by your grandmother, until such a time that one of two conditions were met."

"What conditions?"

"Agatha did not like your husband. I will spare you her actual words regarding his character, though since most of them were Gaelic curses, I'm doubtful you'd understand half of them anyway," Albus said. "Should you divorce him, her money will go directly to you. She did not want him to have a _'bloody red cent'_ as she said. If that condition was not fulfilled by Hermione's seventeenth birthday, the Tully inheritance would then have gone to your daughter, skipping over you entirely. That said, I do not believe you the sort of woman who would divorce a man based on a desire for your inheritance, which is why I've told you now, rather than waiting till the divorce proceedings were final. I merely thought that knowing that finances would not be an issue, many of your fears regarding a romantic relationship with Minerva might abate."

Jean cocked her head back and forth for a minute, thinking of all the reasons she'd been telling herself that she couldn't get involved with Minerva, and found that if money was not an issue, and John was out of the picture, she couldn't come up with a damn reason not to shag the living daylights out of the woman the minute she got back later this afternoon. Well, one reason – Hermione. She could not in good conscious get seriously involved with someone until she'd spoken to her daughter about it. She did not want Hermione to wake up to find that not only had her parents divorced, but her mother had moved to the town next to her school and was now shagging her teacher. No, that wouldn't do at all.

"It's food for thought," Jean finally said, realizing that Albus was still sitting there, sucking on a lemon drop, waiting patiently for her to come to some conclusion. "At this point my only remaining concern is how Hermione will feel about it. I'm inclined to put off even discussing our feelings with Minerva until I've spoken to Hermione, because I worry that feelings on the table, I won't be able to _not_ act on them."

"Very wise," Albus replied. "And now, I expect Minerva will be back within the hour, and I do know I interrupted your unpacking efforts, so I shall be on my way."

"Thank you, Albus," Jean said sincerely. "If for nothing else, thank you for making me feel welcome. I know how much you mean to Minerva, and I expect you think just as much of her."

"Indeed," he replied.

* * *

Minerva was exhausted. Right after breakfast she'd gone to fetch Jean, and after that she'd had classes back to back all day, save for the lunch break, half of which had been spent detouring to her quarters to get a book she needed for the next class. Needless to say, she was looking forward to getting to her quarters, where she could remain the rest of the evening, as Albus had excused her from dinner so that she could dine with Jean. Albus planned to announce Jean's presence to the student body tomorrow at breakfast, with an amendment of her identity, which Minerva would be discussing with Jean this evening. "Jean?" she called, stepping through the door.

She wasn't sure why she was surprised – this _was_ Hermione Granger's mother after all – but Jean was curled up on her sofa reading a book. "Hi Minerva," Jean said, looking up briefly and then returning to the tome in her hand.

"What are you reading?" the Scottish woman asked.

" _Hogwarts, A History_ ", Jean replied, eyes never leaving the page. "Figured if I've staying at the castle for the time being, I might as well learn something about it. It's all quite fascinating."

"Might I interest you in some dinner?" Minerva asked.

"Uhuh," Jean muttered, still not looking up.

"What would you like?"

"Uhuh," the squib muttered again.

Minerva chuckled to herself. "How about a game of Quidditch?" she asked.

"Uhuh."

"Would you like to go wrestle a troll?" Minerva asked, remembering Hermione's encounter with one the year before.

"Uhuh."

Minerva couldn't help but find the whole scene endearing. She wouldn't even bother to claim that she'd never been so engrossed in a book that she'd not paid an ounce of attention to anything around her. Once, Albus had resorted to banishing her clothing to get her attention. _Now,_ Minerva thought slyly. _There's an idea._ "Jean, would you like to have sex?"

Jean's eyes snapped upward. "What?" she asked, looking both startled and interested in the same moment.

The Scottish woman walked the few paces to her guest and pulled the book out of her hands. "Let's have dinner, my dear," she suggested softly.

"But you just said…" Jean stuttered, gaping at her.

Minerva sighed, and took Jean's hand and pulled her to her feet. "I don't think either of us can deny the chemistry that's been building between us," she whispered tenderly. "And while we do need to discuss that fact, I do not believe we are quite ready to jump into bed. Come, we'll discuss it over dinner."

"Uhuh," Jean replied in a skeptical tone.

"What would you like to eat?" Minerva asked, nodding for Jean to follow her into the small kitchen.

"Whatever you're having, Minerva," the other woman replied easily. "Uh, where's the icebox? Or stove for that matter?"

Minerva ignored her. "Aspie?" she called.

Jean screeched when the house elf appeared out of thin air. The creature in question looked at her oddly. "Squib, this one is," the elf stated with a frown. "Is mistress wanting dinner for two?"

"Yes, please," Minerva replied, watching with amusement as Jean eyed the elf with a mixture of curiosity and worry.

"Anything in particular you's be wanting?"

"Why does he talk like that?" Jean asked.

Minerva eyed her companion. "The house elves' native tongue has a very different syntax than English does. It's actually pretty close to Latin. While elves for the most part have mastered the vocabulary required to interact with us, few of them have managed to grasp the syntax. Aspie, we'll have whatever you're already preparing for the students. No need to go to extra trouble on our account. We are merely hungry," she said, directing her attention back to the elf.

The elf remained a bit, staring at Jean with a frown.

"Aspie, Jean had just recently learned of her wizarding heritage," Minerva explained to the clearly offended elf. "She's lived her whole life as a muggle. Our customs are foreign to her."

"You is Granger Miss's bitch," the elf stated, still eying Jean with a frown. "Do not be giving us clothes."

Now Jean was the one looking offended, and Minerva again had to jump in and explain. "Jean, like in dog breeding, an elf's mother is called a bitch, and an elf's father is called a sire. It was not meant in offence. Now Aspie, if you would kindly get dinner, I will be sure to explain your customs to Jean. And Aspie, do not tell anyone that Jean is Hermione's…er…bitch. It is a secret for the time being, alright?"

"Yes, Mistress," the elf replied, bowing deeply. "You's dinner will be arriving soon."

"What the _bloody hell?_ " Jean exclaimed as soon as the creature vanished.

Minerva sighed. "Quick version – elves are creatures of servitude, magically bound to particular families or establishments. It's how they like it, it's how it's been done for centuries. They're happy, and most wizards treat them as a member of the family. To give an elf clothing is a sign of freedom, which in a house elf's mind is a form of disgraced exile. Your daughter has yet to grasp the concept of what she views as slavery being something everyone involved is content with, and therefore has on numerious occasions attempted to offer clothing to elves, believing that if offered freedom, they would take it and be glad."

"I'm sure there's a more detailed explanation than that," Jean said after a moment, "but I think we have more pressing matters to discuss. First and foremost, I want to thank you, Minerva, for all you've done. Bringing me here, opening your home, looking after Hermione… earlier in the hospital…"

The other woman nodded, mentally cringing at Jean's mention of the incident in the hospital wing. Despite Minerva's warning to brace herself, Jean had not been prepared to see her daughter in such a state. Minerva arrived all of five minutes after Albus had sent Jean ahead, to find the mother kneeling by her daughter's bedside in complete hysterics. Minerva had done nothing more than hold the woman as she cried, but she nodded in acknowledgment of the thanks offered.

"You've done so much for Hermione and I over the years," Jean breathed. "We've known each other for seven years, you know that? I was disenchanted with John's charms before I even married the man, but you… Jesus Minerva, do you have any idea how special you are?"

"Hey, that was supposed to be my line," Minerva teased lightly, blushing.

Just then, dinner arrived, and for the next half an hour, the serious conversation was halted. Rather, Jean asked Minerva about her day, and Minerva offered to put out a selection of books for Jean to read as she sat vigil over Hermione in the days to come. She was certain Jean would be doing that during the day while Minerva was teaching, though she expected the other woman would retire with her after supper each day.

After they'd finished eating, Minerva poured two glasses of wine, and the two moved into the sitting room, sitting side by side on the couch, cuddled together much like they had been the evening Minerva had stayed much longer than needed to explain the wizarding world to Hermione and Jean, eighteen months ago. "How did we get here?" Jean murmured sleepily.

"I apparated us," Minerva quipped, setting down her empty wine glass, and taking Jean's before the woman dropped it.

Jean rolled her eyes, and then shifted her position so that she was facing Minerva. "No, darling," she whispered, slowly leaning forward. "Here."

With that, Jean's lips pressed gently to Minerva's. The Scottish woman twisted slightly so that she was not craning her neck in an effort to return the gesture. Their lips melded gently, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, and before Minerva's mind could even wrap around who she was _finally_ kissing, Jean's tongue darted forward just enough to tease Minerva into doing the same, though more eagerly.

"Jean, we shouldn't…" Minerva murmured.

In response, Jean upped the ante and crawled onto Minerva's lap, causing the Scottish woman to fall backwards, back now on the couch and Jean slipping her knee between Minerva's legs, gently pushing into the apex of her thighs. "Oh, yes we should…" she whispered in reply.

Minerva moaned. "Evil woman!"

"Uhuh," the other replied, biting on Minerva's lower lip. "God, I want you."

"You have me, love…" she uttered, all reason leaving as Jean bit down lightly on her neck. "Sweet Merlin you have me…"

"Your room or mine?" Jean whispered.

"Mine," Minerva replied, running her fingers under Jean's shirt. "Bed's bigger, and I'm pretty sure you're going to stay."

Jean pulled back and looked at her soon-to-be lover with soulful brown eyes. "As long as you'll have me," she whispered.

Minerva's abdominal muscles protested as she lurched forward, sitting upright and pulling Jean into a passionate kiss. "That could be quite a long while," she stated between kisses. "As I don't know if I have it in me to let you go."

Jean and Minerva were both half naked by the time they made it to the Scottish woman's bedroom, and fully naked when they finally tumbled onto the bed. They made love well into the night, all fatigue from the day they'd had stripped away in the face of their passion.

Minerva sighed contentedly as she watched Jean sleep later. She knew there were trials ahead, both in facing the dissolution of Jean's marriage, and in helping Hermione handle the upheaval that her family life would have become while she was petrified. Minerva was fairly sure Jean would transition into the wizarding world with ease, considering the only thing that had fazed her so far had been the appearance of a house elf. That was a small hurdle, if there ever was one.

Jean would probably start a dental practice in Hogsmeade, as Albus had suggested. She was not an idle person, and despite her considerable inheritance from the Tully estate, living the life of a socialite just wouldn't suit her. Besides, she'd need something to do during the day when Minerva was teaching, and while she had a child to mind, said child was a student at Hogwarts, and would be plenty busy during the day in her own right. So, unless Jean wanted another child…

Minerva paused in her thinking, suddenly wondering in all seriousness if Jean would want another child. With wizarding medical care at her disposal, there was no reason she couldn't physically do it, and even if down the road Jean did become a McGonagall, Hermione would remain a Granger in all likelihood, which meant that while she could inherit the Tully fortune in due time, Minerva's closest cousin would still take the McGonagall estate, regardless of if Minerva formally adopted Hermione.

The current McGonagall heiress had never before been with someone she'd even have considered having a child with, but Jean… Jean was an excellent mother, and Minerva wouldn't need to try very hard to be a better parent than John Granger had been to Hermione thus far. Of course, she would be trying. If she and Jean decided to have a child together down the road, Minerva would give it one hundred percent of her effort.

Jean was worth it. Hermione was worth it. This year, this day, this evening, this moment… they were all worth giving her all, and as Minerva McGonagall closed her eyes, she decided that one day, probably not too long from now, she was going to ask Jean Granger to marry her.

* * *

 **PLEASE REVIEW!  
**


	3. Chapter 3

**Just to clear up any confusion, when I started writing this fic I was not expecting a big following, so posted the first part in one big chunk. I have decided to continue the story to cover the course of the war, and perhaps even further (whatever the muse dictates, and however you lot feel about it). That said, each chapter is not going to be 10k, so I've broken the first second down into two parts, and this will be the new installment you have all been clamoring for. While the first (now two) parts were Minerva and Jean's perspectives, the following sections will include Hermione's point of view. Later, I may add more. We'll see what the muse says. I have not decided on how much of an impact Jean's presence in the wizarding world will have on the war. We shall just have to wait and see. :)**

* * *

Jean woke up with a sigh of contentment. It had been three weeks since she'd come to Hogwarts to be by her daughter's side, and since she'd become involved with the school's Deputy Headmistress. It had been two weeks since John had agreed to a divorce, and one week since the papers had been officially filed. While there was no real love between she and John anymore, there was also no hard feelings, so their split would be an amicable one. Jean was willing to sign over the house in London and her part of the dental practice, and in turn John was willing to sign over the home in Oxford that Jean had been left by her father, and was given full custody of Hermione. John did not ask for visitation, so that was not part of the divorce agreement, though Jean had requested, off the record, that John be available to Hermione should their daughter wish to reach out to him.

The squib was currently staying in a room at The Three Broomsticks, and had struck up the beginnings of a friendship with the proprietress, Rosmerta. Minerva was spending weekends down here with her, Albus being content that his deputy would be close by should something come up. Today was Monday, and according to Minerva they were going to administer the potion to cure Hermione this afternoon. By the evening, Jean's daughter should be awake. Excited as the woman was to have her daughter back to full health, she worried at how Hermione would handle the changes in her life. They would not be returning to London this summer, rather she and Hermione would be purchasing a home of their own. Jean had not yet decided if it would be in the muggle or magical world, though she knew her decision would lean heavily on how Hermione felt about the matter.

A body moved beside her, and Jean looked over and Minerva's sleeping form squirming in protest of the sun peeking in the window. "Gah…" the witch groaned.

"Good morning," Jean said softly, rolling toward her lover and running her hands across Minerva's bare skin, eventually finding and cupping a breast in her palm.

"Hummm…" Minerva hummed. "Morning. What time is it?"

"Only six thirty," the squib replied, letting go of Minerva's breast and trailing her hand down and down until she felt her fingers run over neatly trimmed curls between the other woman's legs.

Minerva's hips arched into the touch, and she moaned as the other woman's fingers sunk into her hot, wet center. "Jean…" she breathed out. "Gods…"

Jean marveled at the ecstasy that touching someone could bring. Before meeting Minerva, she'd only ever felt arousal when _being_ touched; never when just touching someone else. This was insane and wonderful and… _oh_!

She eeped in surprise when Minerva rolled toward, and then on top of her, pulling her into a passionate kiss. Minerva's fingers clawed though her hair and Jean thrust into the pressure now at the apex of her thighs. "That's it," Minerva encouraged, moving her leg in time with Jean's movement. "Come on, love."

Sensation coursed through Jean's body as she and Minerva moved; lips against lips, breast against breast, thighs against the most intimate part of each other. "C-c-close…" Jean stuttered, chest tight and core humming as a tight, tingling sensation began to overwhelm her senses.

Minerva's lips fell to her shoulder, nipping lightly at the bare skin as she kept the rhythm steady. "With me," she murmured, accent thick.

Jean's world exploded, and she felt Minerva's body shuddering much as her own was. "Ughhh!" she screamed. "Minerva!"

Silence followed for a few minutes, the Scottish woman's body draped over her own, both breathing hard. Eventually, Minerva rolled off her lover, and then pulled Jean's body tight against her own. "Good morning, indeed," she finally said.

Jean laughed. "Quite."

"Today's the day, you know," Minerva continued, sitting up and reaching for her robe. "Hermione is going to wake up. And we'll have to face the music."

"I know," the squib replied, brow etching with worry. "She's ever so fond of you, and I do hope that feeling just translates over, but I do worry she'll feel betrayed. Not that any of this is your fault…"

"I'm not completely innocent, darling," Minerva replied. "I might have urged you to work things out with John. I, rather selfishly, did not."

"Yes you did," Jean objected, remembering how her lover had responded to her initial declaration she'd be getting a divorce. "When you came to get me."

Minerva scoffed. "The thirty seconds that lasted hardly counts, Jean."

Jean sighed. "Hermione is well aware that things with her father and I have not been great. I doubt she'll mind at all we've gone our separate ways. It's just our relationship I worry she'll react badly to."

"We'll find out this afternoon," Minerva said pointedly as Jean also rose to get dressed. "Though I'd suggest you tell her about you and John before you tell her about you and I."

"I do have some sense left," Jean quipped. "Though thanks for the tip."

* * *

Hermione Granger was aware of her body being gently urged into a less awkward position than it had been for the last few weeks before she became aware of the sound of her mother's voice. "How long till she wakes?" her mum asked.

"I'd imagine within a few minutes, my dear."

That was Professor McGonagall's voice. Hermione didn't know if her face was mirroring her thoughts, but she was pleased that her favorite teacher was here. She always felt safe around McGonagall; safe, and understood.

"Can she hear us?" Hermione's mum asked.

"Maybe. Her hearing will be the first sense she gets back."

 _Madam Pomfrey._ Hermione thought.

"Perhaps I should go," Professor McGonagall said.

"Please stay, Minerva," Jean requested. "She's not going to suspect you're here for any other reason than concern for her well-fare, as is appropriate from her Head of House."

 _When had mum gotten so familiar with how things ran at Hogwarts?_ Hermione wondered. _And what other reason would Professor McGonagall be here for? It's not like Madam Pomfrey and mum don't already both know she's got a stronger connection with me because of when I was sick. That was no real secret._

"Alright, love," McGonagall conceded.

The term of endearment did surprise Hermione. McGonagall was well known for calling those she cared about _my dear_ , but the word _love_ … Hermione didn't think she'd ever even heard McGonagall utter the word before. It sounded odd coming from her lips, and she wondered if perhaps her mum and McGonagall had gotten closer while she'd been petrified. However long she'd been like this…

 _Merlin_ , Hermione thought. _I hope I haven't been like this for years. What if I've missed my OWLs? Or worse, my NEWTs!_

"Look, her fingers!" Hermione heard her mum say. In an effort to show she could hear what they were saying, she put some effort into clenching and unclenching her fist.

"She's starting to move, Poppy!"

 _When had her mum gotten so familiar with Madam Pomfrey?_ Hermione wondered. She dismissed the thought as the sound of Madam Pomfrey's footsteps getting closer, rather turning her attention to opening her eyes.

"Bright," she croaked.

"Hermione, baby, can you hear me?" her mum asked franticly.

"I've turned down the lights, Miss Granger," Madam Pomfrey informed her. Try to open your eyes again."

Hermione did as she was told, and was relieved to find the room dimmed to a reasonable level. "How long was I…?"

"Just over three weeks," McGonagall answered, handing her a glass of water, which Hermione sipped gratefully. "And you've had us all worried sick."

"Did you figured it out? The basilisk?" Hermione asked, suddenly remembering _why_ she'd been in this state now that the worry of how long was relieved. "Are Harry and Ron okay?"

Her mum smiled. "Your friends are fine. They managed to kill the beast just this morning."

"THEY DID WHAT?" Hermione yelped.

McGonagall chuckled. "Come now, Hermione. Had you not been in the hospital wing you'd have gone into the Chamber of Secrets with them."

"I thought you said she was the one of them with good sense," Jean said, glaring at McGonagall.

"She is," Hermione's Professor replied. "I did not say that Misters Potter and Weasley would not influence her decisions. They wouldn't know good sense if it hit them over the head with a bludger."

Hermione laughed. "Probably true, Professor," she said. "Though imagine the trouble they'd find without me to be the voice of reason."

"I'd really rather not imagine that scenario, Miss Granger," McGonagall said crisply.

Poppy, who had been silently casting diagnostic spells while they chatting, cleared her throat. "I'm pleased to say you are in fairly good shape, considering. You'll need to take it easy the next couple of days, and you'll tire easily. Your body has had weeks of no movement and your legs especially will feel weak for a bit."

"I understand. Thank you for looking after me, Madam Pomfrey," Hermione replied politely. "When can I go back to classes?"

"At least two days, though you can return to your dorms now, or to your mum's place if you'd prefer – I'm sure the Headmaster will be fine with you going to Hogsmeade under the circumstances," the mediwitch replied.

Hermione turned to her mum, looking confused and a bit concerned. "Mum? Are you _living_ in Hogsmeade? What about dad? He can't see a wizarding town!"

Her mum turned to the Professor. "Perhaps…"

"Of course," McGonagall replied to the unspoken request. "See you for dinner?"

"Your quarters?" her mum asked.

"If you like."

Hermione just gaped at them. She'd always suspected her mum kept in touch with McGonagall after the whole thing with dragon pox – the two seemed far too familiar with each other when the Professor had come to tell her about Hogwarts, for them to have only met that once. But they'd only actually met a couple of times now. It was odd to see them acting so… close.

"You can floo to Rosmerta's from here if you like," Madam Pomfrey chimed in. "Merlin knows you are quite adept at that by now. I don't know why you're not just staying in the castle, Jean."

"You know what Albus said about that," McGonagall said pointedly. "Now, I've got a class to teach. Jean, I'll see you later. Hermione, I'm glad to see you awake."

"Thank you, Professor," Hermione replied warily.

"Good day, Poppy," she said finally, at which point Madam Pomfrey smiled and toddled off, and the Professor left, leaving Hermione alone with her mother. They walked over to the floo, slowly for Hermione's part, and made their way to the Three Broomsticks. Hermione mum helped her navigate up a flight of stairs and into a room filled with familiar belongings. An awkward silence filled the room.

"So, Hermione…" Jean finally said.

"When did you come to Hogwarts?" Hermione asked.

"The day after you were attacked," her mum replied.

"Why?"

"Why not? You're my daughter, I love you, and you were seriously injured."

"I was injured last term, and you didn't come to the castle then," Hermione replied pointedly, thinking of the adventure last year with the Sorcerer's Stone.

"A few bumps and bruises hardly qualify, sweety. You'd get that weekly if you played Quidditch," her mum justified.

"Then there's that!" Hermione exclaimed. "Since when are you so familiar with the wizarding world? You and dad didn't want to hear much about it when I was home last summer!"

Jean frowned. "If you recall, it was only your father who did not show interest. I was always willing to listen, Hermione. And the last few weeks I have been living here, and I've worked my way through a bit of Minerva's library in the process. Not to mention everything Minerva's told me. I've also gotten to be friends with Rosmerta – she's the innkeep at the tavern I'm staying at."

"Then there's that!" Hermione burst out. "Does dad not care that you're staying away so long?!"

"I'm surprised you even need to ask that," Jean replied with a frown. "You know he doesn't."

Hermione's annoyance at her mum's presence vanished on the spot, quickly replaced with concern. "I know he doesn't care about me. But dad loves you."

Her mother sighed. "Hermione your father and I are getting divorce. We will not be returning to London this summer. Rather, you and I will be buying a place of our own – a place we'll pick out together."

"Divorced?" Hermione gaped.

This development sort of thrilled Hermione. Part of why she and Harry had grown close was because they both understood what it was like to live with a relative who didn't care for you at all. Harry had it worse, of course – Hermione had her mum after all – but still, it had been nice to make a friend who understood.

"It's up to you if we live in the wizarding world or the muggle one," Jean continued. "You spent the first twelve years of your life forced to live with me and my bad choice in partners. From here on out, you will have the right to an opinion on matters that impact you. I can't promise I'll always go with whatever you want, but I will certainly give your thoughts and feelings more consideration than I have in the past."

"So, if I said I wanted a baby brother or sister?" Hermione said slyly, voicing a wish of hers that was no secret to her mother, though she wouldn't have dared suggest it to her dad. He didn't even want her, let alone a second child.

"That would depend on how my new partner feels about the subject, and if there's a spell or something that would allow two women to have a child together," her mum replied.

Bomb. Dropped.

Hermione just stared, eyes wide for a moment before she began to stutter out an inquiry for clarification. "What? You're… you're with… a… what?" Forget wanting a sibling – for the moment – this was huge!

Jean blushed. "I'm seeing someone."

"A woman?!"

"Yes."

"A witch?!"

"Yes."

Hermione was reeling, but her mind was still working quite well despite everything, and quite suddenly she remembered the term of endearment she'd heard McGonagall use as she'd been waking up. "Oh sweet Merlin," she whispered. "You're seeing McGonagall."

Jean looked surprised, but nodded. "I am. Do you… I mean – does it… I mean – are you alright with that?"

The second year Gryffindor let out a little laugh. "Sure. I mean, she's already like a second mum to me. Why not make it official?"

Her mum let out an obvious sigh of relief. "Thank you sweety. I was so worried you'd…"

"Flip out?"

Jean nodded. "You'd have had every right to do so. It's quite a shock to fall asleep with two happily married parents, and to wake to find them divorced and your mum snogging your Professor."

Hermione's face squished. "I don't need that mental picture, mum. If you're happy, I'm fine with it. I mean, if it had to be one of my Professors, at least it wasn't Professor Snape or something."

"Hey, I like Severus!" her mum teased.

"That's not okay," Hermione teased. "Date McGonagall all you want, but I'll absolutely die if I have to tell my friends that my mum is friends with Professor Snape. Harry and Ron would go mental."

Jean laughed. "Okay, okay. I won't invite Severus to tea."

"Good."

"I'll have tea with him at his place."

"Mum!"

"More likely to have Minerva over to our place. I do like to snog her and stuff, after all," Jean continued, teasing smile on her face.

"MUM!" Hermione shouted, exasperated. Ron and Harry were going to flip out when they found out about this.

* * *

Jean made her way to Minerva's quarters, Hermione in tow. She's spoken with her lover after filling her daughter in on everything, and given how well Hermione had received the news, Minerva had suggested that they both come to dinner. The Transfiguration Professor was anxious about how the dynamic between herself and her pupil would change, now that the proverbial cat was out of the bag. Jean was equally anxious to reassure her lover, and Hermione was taking everything in stride. Besides, Hermione wanted to see Harry and Ron, which she'd be doing after they'd had dinner with Minerva.

"Darling?" Jean called after uttering the password to Minerva's quarters.

"In the kitchen, love!" Minerva called back.

Hermione shook her head, large grin on her face.

"What?" Jean asked defensively.

The thirteen year old let out a small laugh. "Just…adapting."

"And quite well, from what your mother has told me," Minerva stated, coming out of the kitchen and into the main living area of her quarters. "Though I can refrain from such terms of endearment in your presence, if it makes you uncomfortable."

"No, no," Hermione assured her professor. "Certainly not on my account. I'm happy to see my mum happy. My father seldom, well… I'm sure you know already."

Jean sighed. "I feel a bit like an idiot, you know."

Minerva and Hermione both turned to look at her. "Why?"

"For not doing this years ago," she replied. Regret was not a strong enough word for her feelings on that topic. She had no doubts that, had she left John after Hermione got Dragon Pox, she and Minerva would have gotten together years ago. John, and his lack of love for herself and their daughter, could have been a footnote of her life, rather than half the book. While she may live longer than the average muggle, she had no doubts that Minerva would still outlive her, despite being years older.

Hermione grinned. "Yeah, had that happened, I would have had a couple of siblings by now."

Jean and Minerva both blushed furiously. "Hermione…" Jean muttered. "As I told you before, I'm not even sure that's possible."

"Professor?" Hermione asked, turning to her mentor. "Is it possible? For two women to have kids, in the wizarding world? I imagine there would be some transfiguration involved, but you're really good at that, so…"

"Hermione Jean Granger!" Jean hissed in embarrassment.

Minerva cleared her throat. "It's quite alright, Jean," she said awkwardly. "It is indeed possible, with transfiguration and a complex potion, for two women to conceive a child. That being said, if you will be getting a sibling or two is a subject your mum and I have not discussed at all."

"Well, don't let me stop you," Hermione shrugged, grinning. "Discuss away."

"If and when we discuss it, it will be in private, young lady," Minerva replied sternly, obviously having had quite enough of Hermione's antics. Not that Jean blamed her.

Hermione's eyes lowered. "Yes ma'am," she replied.

Jean's eyes widened. "How did you do that?" she asked her partner. She'd been the primary parent to this impudent child for over thirteen years, and never had she been able to dissuade Hermione from pushing once she'd set her mind to something.

Minerva raised as eyebrow, obviously picking up on the unsaid thoughts. "Miss Granger," she said crisply. "I expect from now on you will be showing your mother the respect due to her."

Jean turned and looked at her daughter, who was gulping visibly. "Yes, Professor," she whispered.

"Well, that just confirms in then," the squib muttered. "I should have been with you all along. Miracle worker – that's what you are."

"You're the miracle," Minerva whispered, kissing Jean lightly on the lips.

"So… what's for dinner?" Hermione asked suddenly.

Jean and Minerva looked over to the young witch, both laughing when they realized she was facing away from them, obviously not quite ready to see them snogging.

* * *

Minerva transformed into her animagis form, carefully following as Hermione, Harry, and Ron left the Great Hall. She knew Hermione was about to tell them about she and Jean, and wanted to be there in case the shared secret was poorly received. They had discussed telling Harry and Ron over dinner, and while she and Jean had told Hermione it was fine if she told her two closest friends, Minerva had decided it wise to tag along for the telling. It wasn't that she felt any shame for being with Jean, but she didn't want to put Jean, or Hermione for that matter, in danger just for being her _family_.

Gods, she had a _family_. The notion had struck her a few weeks prior, but now that Hermione was awake, reality had set in, and it was awe inspiring. She'd never expected to have a family. A partner, sure. She'd had Amelia for years, though they'd never even considered having children. Amelia had not wanted them, and Minerva had accepted that. Jean, however, was still young enough to have another child or two, if she liked, and even if they also opted to not have children, Hermione would be her step-daughter in due time.

"Guys, I need to tell you something," Hermione whispered to the boys, bringing Minerva's attention back to the present. "It's a secret, so I need your word that no matter how you feel about it, you won't tell anyone."

"We've got your back, 'Mione," Ron replied.

"You can trust us," Harry added.

"My parents have gotten a divorce," Hermione stated.

Harry smiled knowingly, but the smile was replaced with a look of confusion. "Why is that a big secret?"

"My mum is living in Hogsmeade," she continued with her explanation.

"O…kay," Ron said slowly. "Not to quote Harry, but why is that a big secret? We've seen your mum around the castle a handful of times since you were petrified."

"My mum's dating McGonagall," Hermione finally said. " _That_ is what has to stay a secret."

Ron's reaction, as Minerva had come to expect from the boy, was a predictable shocked expression, followed by the words "Bloody Hell!"

Harry, on the other hand, just looked relieved. "Oh good. You know."

Hermione put her hands on her hips. "What do you mean, I _know_?"

Harry looked guiltily at his friend. "Saw them snogging last week. Didn't know anything about your parents splitting, so I didn't want to confront them or anything, and well, you weren't awake."

"Why didn't you tell _me_?" Ron asked, face red.

"If McGonagall had been snogging _your_ mum, I would have," Harry replied. "Hermione, I was going to tell you when you came back to the Tower tonight. Glad I don't have to, though. Was not looking forward to it, at all. I am glad that your mum and McGonagall are a thing and your mum is leaving your dad – the git – but I didn't know they were splitting and even though you don't like your dad, well, I didn't want to see you hurting, because you might have felt betrayed by your mum and the professor."

Hermione nodded, accepting the explanation. Minerva was floored at Harry Potter's maturity. She knew his own home life was less that loving, so it really wasn't a surprise that he and Hermione had bonded over a shared dislike for a parent, or in Harry's case, his guardians. Still, Minerva couldn't have been prouder of her cub for keeping what he'd seen – she and Jean snogging – to himself. He might have created a terrible and possibly dangerous mess had he told anyone. Word traveled fast at Hogwarts, and word got out of Hogwarts with the daily Owl post.

Minerva moved away from the still chatting trio, comfortable that they would keep the secret. As soon as she was clear of the hall way and into the Entry Hall, she transformed back into human form, and eyed the Gryffindor hourglass. "Twenty points to Gryffindor," she whispered. "For respecting privacy."

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